The blinding sun was about to rise over the horizon, casting its fiery rays across the lonely war-torn backwater of Aurumia. Grass swayed in the hot wind as clouds circled overhead, swirls of vapour spotting the sky above. The mirky planet was one of the great battles and imminent destruction, a key world in the creation of galactic trade routes with a series of Collective Colonies being fabricated in the outer regions.

Twelve years ago a mighty garrison had been formed mustering a force of over ten thousand and now the planet was in the arborous process of being conquered and terraformed into placid submission. Its blissful fields burned red with the smell of gunfire, its natives were being struck down and violently massacred one by one. Eradicated from their own lands. The Collective banner of war, torn and weathered as it hung high, swaying in the midst of bloodshed. Yet this planet was far from the core of civilization and was at the edge of the Collective’s grand domain. A spec in the distance of the towering might that was its great empire. A great mountain could be seen in the distance, its magnificent spire piercing through the heavens, light reflecting off the jagged rock.

Colonel Baquil crouched in the mud-stricken trench, a mixture of dirt and sweat plastered violently across her torn uniform, around her, in a circular formation, five trenches formed a thin defensive line around a convoy of tanks and hover ships. Formidable vessels half hazardously thrown into a makeshift wall. Iron and steel protruded from various fragments which had been tarnished by the war in front. The faith humm of engines could be heard as an encampment officer warmed up their gun. Rounds of spent ammo littered accross the ground as smoke billowed from the barrel. Baquil cast a look behind, taking the time to straighten her helmet. Her eyes met the same horrid fate, a rigid cliff, an unrelenting hand of rock which blocked them from any form of retreat and sealed their fate to the wolf pack in front. She gripped her rifle in determination, mud on her face, slowly being washed away by a mixture of sweat and blood. Splattered across her chest was a mixture of alien blood. The trenches were stained and watered with the blood of the corpses of countless Collective soldiers to the point where pools of entrails and carrion littered its ground, however, this was no army of drones, it was of humanoids, enlisted volunteers from a scurry of new-formed colonies. Only the wind spoke as they waited, every moment dreading anticipation. Baquil looked down at her side and placed a firm hand upon her sidearm, flicking up the holster and letting it sway loosely on her side, ready to draw at any moment. She then used her gloved hand to run a finger down her rifle, chiselling away the dirt plastered on its barrel.

Infront where shelling had blasted the dirt into a crater, poking holes into the field, a young scout could be seen. His durasteel armour was lacerated by what could be observed as multiple lashes from an obsidian knife. His hair blew in the hot wind, as light from Aurumia's twin moons illuminated his path. Careful not to alert the enemy of his presence, he scoured the horrors of the battlefield, pulling various grenades, supplies and change packs off of the littered corpses. As he worked tears danced up his blistered cheeks but an ungodly determination could be seen. Machine overcoming all thought and emotion.

Behind the five trenches was a legion of hardened soldiers bearing the collective’s impressive re-enforced steel-plated armour, yet this was no legion of fresh-faced recruits, these soldiers had seen the perils of battle with their very own eyes. They had gazed into the antics of hell and witnessed the horrific death of countless of their closest friends. They knew to think past the bitter propaganda of home. Saw through the viel and visage painted at the academy. No longer blinded by its glory it invoked but rather, saw its terrorizing, bloodcurdling implications and comprehended the atrocities it commanded.

As the night sky shone bright with the stars of a million worlds they stared on, gaze like daggers piercing into the unknown.

The soldiers had tasted the agonizing pain of both victory and defeat. Their desire to spite death and reap vengeance upon their enemy no matter the cost. Yet in the beginning, this was no ordinary battalion, the army which stood defiantly to defend the convoy was a mixture of mechanics, soldiers, doctors, and the remnants of a once grand platoon that had dwindled in number.

Behind them stood the remnants of the Collective mining town that they were defending, its people watched in destitution as they were trapped, doomed to scour the tunnels of the cliff until death. No help was coming to this settlement, the elite regiment sent for aid was the very one that now manned the mud-ridden windy trails. They waited with bated breath on the war in front. Pondering the horrors which were about to occur and whether they would ever see the light of day again.

The colonel cast a glance to the field infront, an assault rifle clutched in her grasp, they were fighting down to the very last soldier, and on the horizon, a force of twenty thousand natives armed with spears, bows and the guns of her fallen comrades would rush with the sun on their backs. A wave of torrential fury that would sweep through their lines leaving naught but ruin in its wake. Facing a force outnumbering her by more than 1-100 Baquil had begun her campaign commanding an army of nearly 1,000 however every drone soldier she had, was now littered in putrid scrap upon the marshes. They had been riddled down to less than eighty in a month, eighty facing off against an enemy army of over 20,000. Impossible odds to conquer even with her advancement.

Beside her, two officers cast putrid looks of fear at their leader, their uniforms mud-caked and torn, bleeding scars protruding from their chests or arms but Baquil knew she was going to die, the colonel knew every single person in the settlement behind, and who manned the trenches was going to perish, they all knew that yet they kept fighting, a fiery passion of hate brewed in their tear stricken eyes and the collective army knew if they were to die their banner torn from its place ontop the carnage and cast upon the murky floor, they would take down as many of their foe as they could. To the last soldier, the last chamber, the last gun. In honour of the fallen, and to maintain respect for the status of the greatest fighting force to ever curse the stars. The Great Democracy of The Collective.

The colonel climbed out of the murky trench, boots etched in a think coating of mud, as she walked into the command position of the inner circle, barking orders to what few soldiers remained. Spit flew from her mouth as she cried for troops to advance. Scurrying into positions held for countless hours, the soldiers waited as they saw the plains in front. Moonlight cast its rays upon the field of tall grass swaying in the wind, a vast arid meadow that disguised their hunters with its lush bushy undergrowth. From the stars glowing overhead, you could tell soon night would end, and an attack with the blinding light of the raging sun at their backs would soon envelop the infantry.

Although superior in both weapons, tactics and technology to their enemy. They had no craft capable of flight, their long-range communications had been brutally destroyed by an enemy surprise attack long ago and their strongest most valiant soldiers had fallen long ago in the carrion-ridden mudflats. They were alone and if the raging storm pushed them back, there was nothing but an underground mining town to run to. A settlement whose inhabitants were mere citizens with no fighting force within, the town, cramped barren rock, spiralling down in a labyrinth of corridors to the depths of Aurumia. Retreating into the caverns was itself similar to fleeing into a tomb, once inside, they would surely perish in the onslaught of blood and anguish.

In the trenches, the sea of mud stuck to the soldiers almost pulling them inside, latching onto their legs as they seeped into its murky composure, but they stood strong. You could see the bodies of their allies littered the area. A fallen Captain could be seen face down in the dirt pooling blood from a puncture wound caused by a sharp wooden spear. The collective armour he bore chipped and scarred, its durable steel tarnished from the sight of an endless barrage. Four specialists face down in a smouldering crate, smoke still rising from their corpses. The trenches were equipped with spikes and a wall of barbed wire, the mesh surrounded the front and clung onto the bodies of fallen aliens and unfortunate legionaries. A few landmines were also scattered about, hoping to wreak devastation upon the unsuspecting foe, pockets of sure death for their advancing enemy. Baquil bent over and stuck her hand into the mud, running the mirky dirt through her fingers. As the slush slowly trickled from her gloved palm, she cast a glance out into the horizon. Her eyes spouting ferocious determination.

A severed alien hand could be seen protruding from the mud, its elongated fingers signature to the species. They were humanoids, intelligent beings that would have had a bright future if the Collective had not laid claim so early to their world. It was there in the pits of death that they had fallen to the clutches of their leader. All hopes lying in the skill and potency of their Colonel and a true test of leadership could be authority seen. Baquil had led the company through the hardest of battles, transversed through hell and back with her magnificent tactics and brimming intellect able to devise a strategy that lowered the invading forces by a number of 50,000 to 20,000 with only the loss of only 1,000 lives. Genetically engineered from birth to ensure success.

She had earned the respect of every single soldier who served under her, and to death, they would follow with uncanny glee. She was a military leader bred for the sole purpose of destruction, educated to the peak of genius by renowned academies on the homeworld. She would fight alongside her troops without hesitation and die for the collective without question. Loyalty, service, diligence and strength were drafted into her subconscious from decades of endless training, and experience. However, even with the Collective's best and brightest at their disposal, with soldiers who had seen battles transpire on countless alien worlds and fought armada which traversed the galaxy they were still destined to die.

The outside number of enemies was too vast to comprehend, and they had bravely faced off against countless waves of attackers for far too long. The onslaught of death was relentless and unfazed. Running low on ammunition, guns, energy, resources and strength they were at the point of a final stand. Only living to spite their enemy, every drawn breath one reserved for the hounding plague of hell which clouded the outskirts of the tunnels. Baquil drew a long deep breath and scoured the meadows and plains above with a pair of enhanced binoculars.

Suddenly a sharp cry broke her focus, a voice echoing among the explosions.

"Colonel" a soldier breathed.

She turned to face the haggard salute.

"Report" she muttered.

"We've managed to partly repair the town's beacon hub,"

Baquil held her breath, fixing the soldier in her eyes. Behind her, more smoke billowed from the battlefield creating a hazy glow.

"Partly repaired?"

The soldier shook his head, his hands and uniform were laced with grease, eyes glazed over from fatigue.

"Signal may pass outward if luck holds"

She cast a glance out into the horizon. Resuming to scan the landscape. The wind tearing into the meadows in front.

"It seems we've been given one last chance Luitenant, tell the repair team to continually broadcast, until the last moment if possible"

"Yes Colonel" he replied, scurrying back along the trenches. Mud splattered across his back as he sprinted.